Noughts
by DarknessDrought
Summary: Irene Adler: notorious  thief, beautiful liar and one of Moriarty's most skilled employees. But when she is assigned a special task, will she be able to pull through? Or is her heart just not that bullet-proof? SH/IA
1. Chapter 1

AND... I haven't written anything in a while have I...? No, no I haven't.

I just came up with this little idea quite a while ago, and I just thought I'd write it down... I have no idea whether it's good or not... Or if I'll continue it... Or if it's in character for that matter... But still, enjoy!

Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock in any way, shape or form... Unfortunately...

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Darkness quickly enfolded her as she stepped out into the corridor.

There was hardly a single sound coming from that building that very night, just the click-clacking of her high heeled shoes as she stepped attentively down the corridor, her shallow breath coming inward quaky and exhaling hesitantly too. Not wanting to make a single sound, as her slender hands slowly cascading down to where her skirt was, hitching it up slightly to pull the gun out of where she had carefully hidden it, on the leather holster strapped tight around her pale leg. Soon she was outside the specified room she had been heading towards, and taking a big inhale of air before she had entered inside.

"Ah… Irene," The familiar Irish accent chimed. "And _I _thought you wouldn't come, I guess I stand corrected… And I see you brought a gift with you too!"

Slowly, Irene Adler uplifted her arm with the gun glinting in the dim light, it still fairly dark and the man's face completely masked by it.

"Would you turn the light on?" Irene sharply replied, the American accent quickly penetrating his ears and having a blunt edge to it, as if she wanted this business to be over and done with as fast as possible.

Lights quickly filled the room up a little too brightly than she had wanted, but it was all the while better than the unnerving darkness. Not that anything such as the mere dark had scared her in the first place…

She hardly wanted to admit it, but this man could pretty much scare anybody. Sure he could seem… almost harmless at first, with his squeaky, almost too high pitched accent that could get on your nerves, the simple gestures, the façade he sometimes placed on… But then he shifted, quite fastly too, to a beast never encountered before that was almost like a demon in human form. Not at all like the now innocent seeming bullies she had encountered at school, nor the 'mates' at college that always seemed to talk behind her back or the colleagues that sniggered at her when she wasn't looking. He was hardly like the corrupt politicians, or those historical figures that should be forgotten rather than remembered for their bad deeds. Oh no… He was nothing like them.

_He was worse._

He seemed all the more frightening with that 'battle wound', as he called it. A ragged burn placed right on the left side of his face, it distorting his smile slightly and making him seem a _hell _lot more darker and sinister… In fact, his eyes to her seemed to darken and dull with emotion every minute…

"I've done as you asked, quite politely too and I'm not on about the whole light thing, if that's what your idiotically thinking, which I'm sure you're not," He smirked, leaning back in the seat he was currently sitting in, whilst Irene grasped her gun tighter. "I want something back."  
"And why ever would you assume I would do something for _you_?" Irene scoffed, clicking the lever of the gun down and just about ready to fire. "Are you out of your mind?"  
"Absolutely," He just grinned, jumping up to his feet. "Now come on and shoot me."

Irene paused, her throat dry as she knitted her eyebrows together. _What?_

"Excuse me?"  
"Go on," Moriarty urged. "Just try."

Irene wanted to press down on the trigger, to end this never ending cycle she seemed to go through. Of him using her for his own gain, to do things that she didn't want to do. Sure, in the beginning it seemed exciting and thrilling, but now… Well…

She pulled the gun back down to her side, her face blank whilst Jim Moriarty seeming ever the more pleased by the minute.

"That's a good girl," He said, sitting back down. "Now, about this little _deal…"_

Irene sighed, not wanting to go ahead and delve herself into this mess again. She just looked away and hoped this little meeting would go by in no time.

"What is it?" She huffed, folding her arms. "It better be something easy this time."  
"Hmm… I guess it could be," She heard him chuckle. Irene getting the more irritated and frustrated by the minute, _why on Earth was he so complex? _She guessed it came with being a criminal mastermind of course… "I heard about your new acquaintance the other day… If you could call him that."  
Did he mean…? _No._ He couldn't, but…

"That certainly was a steamy little fling you had," Jim teased, as Irene started to stop feeling irritated, but feel a cold drip of liquid trickle down the side of her warm forehead. "And I thought he was never the one for those things, especially since it only lasted a single night!"

"You're just jealous," Irene tried to joke, but came out as more of a choke. The gun starting to seem more lighter in her hand, oddly enough. "What do you want with him anyway?"

"Nothing much," She saw him shrug out the corner of her eye. "I just want to return the favour."

"Of?"  
"Giving me this scar."  
Irene knew that then that this was no simple job, this involved getting her hands dirty. She did not uplift the gun for the man's safety, but more for her own conscience, as surely some screws would come loose and become like him, if she ever did something like _that _again. She wouldn't allow it.

She let her finger quickly press against the trigger. Feeling some relief when she finally found the courage to bring her arm up again and shoot at the man she had loathed for _so _many years. She had just glad to get this over and done with, and yet…

When she fired, he did not flinch, no alarms sounded and no bodyguards came running.

A mirror just broke.

Irene stood horrified for a moment. How stupid had she been?

"So it was his-" Irene cut herself off, as she saw the true man rather than reflection, not having time to do anything as the lights flickered off and Jim Moriarty wrapped his arm around her waist and held one over her neck. Grasping her to him whilst she flinched away and struggled, but his grip remained tight and sturdy. Feeling his hot breath in her ear, as she tried to shriek, even though no one would probably come and yet no sound came out.

"Oh, Irene," Moriarty smiled in her ear. "And I thought you were smart… Didn't you notice that the scar was on the wrong side of my face? Or was it just because you haven't visited me in a while… It is beneficial. Any who…"  
She held her breath, as his lips were right next to her ear. Quick and hot breath in her ear sending shivers down her spine.

"I want you to entrance Sherlock Holmes like you did before, and when you finally have him at your full grasp, _I will _kill him."

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Reviews are muchly appreciated!

Ah, and if you're ever interesting in Beta-ing, please PM me. My Mother Beta-ed this chapter, funnily enough...


	2. Chapter 2

**And here is the next chapter! Enjoy~**

**And special thanks to _umbuby_ to Beta-ing this for me!**

**Disclaimer; I do not not own Sherlock... Unfortunatley as it is to say...**

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**A few weeks earlier…**

Cold seeped into the depths of her pale, slender fingers as soon as she brushed the edge of the ivory piano. It had been long since she had seen a piano of the likes of this, _too_ long in fact. It was magnificent to her emerald eyes and she had rushed to it as soon as she had spotted it in the corner of her eye. It stood proud in the middle of the stage, all glossy and white without a single mark on it. She had been lucky she had been asked to perform here tonight, rather than continue in her little _hobby_. Not that the people who had hired her knew about that… She almost considered this a break from it. At least for a while, anyway…

Sighing, she thought about the subject. Her fingers strayed to the cool keys of the piano, letting her finger slip on a single key and, closing her eyes in bliss, she heard the melancholy chord strum out across the large hall. How she had longed to hear this sound…

"Irene?"

She jumped up in surprise, wondering who could have intruded her little moment of tranquillity. Just as she had been away from such pianos so long, she had been away from human company for quite a long time too; well… hardly any humans that were that pleasant anyway. She was hardly used to either of their presences. Quietly she pondered if she had looked a little odd, just sitting there in front of the piano with her eyes closed…

"I thought you were just a singer we hired," The man chuckled, scraping a bit of blonde hair that had strayed in front of his eyes. "I had no idea you were doubly talented!"

_That isn't the only thing I'm quite talented at_, she thought sarcastically.

"Ah, not at all…" She smiled hesitantly, rubbing the back of her neck. "I just know a little."

"Is that so?" He smiled, his blue eyes flashing with something behind those slightly rounded glasses. She couldn't exactly put her finger on it… "I thought you could have multitasked and done my job instead."

Ah, she should have guessed (well, _deduced_, she corrected herself) that he was the pianist; with his nails cut so short. He stood up straight, whilst the man's hands very long and nimble, and, of course, sort of bony. Looking as if he had good control over his body in the way he seem so elegant and poised. That subtle gracefulness that took great eye to spot.

"Anyway," He said, snapping Irene out of her thoughts. He walked away. Saying goodbye in a simple gesture and a flick of the hand. All the while Irene silently watched whilst he strode through the hordes of seats, towards the large golden rimmed, wooden doors at the back. "Better get off to practice… as should you."

Irene just simply rolled her eyes at the man, watching him disappear behind those double doors in a swish of long blonde hair. Lingering over the reminiscence of his presence, which had been rather… delightful, as she didn't really hang about people often. That really was just mundane conversation, but it was enough for her.

Concentrating more on her singing and performance for tonight, Irene halted her thoughts upon the man she had just met and rested them on the non-existent audience sitting in front of her. Opening her mouth and letting the euphonious words spur out. She hadn't one single thought of what would happen that night. She was hardly thinking at all, but if she did – she would have thought the evening to go quite smoothly.

She would be so very wrong of course, nothing would really happen that night, but who was coming to watch, or rather – intervene, was another matter _entirely_…

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John had always been confused by Sherlock's motives to drag him to these sorts of events. Really, music had been a strange thing to talk about between the two friends. It was pretty blatant that Sherlock just made up the random things to play, oddly enough from his emotions, which he apparently didn't have… Due to him being a 'sociopath' after all. John's view on music wasn't really a vast one. His favourite music had ranged from Queen, to so on. He would have never have thought he would have seen any of them in this kind of performance, as he doubted anyone would have come to watch that sort of music anyway…

He never would have thought that Sherlock would have dragged him to see this kind of music of all people. He had always thought of him being the classical sort of man, but never the one for opera, that was for sure. A simple waft of the poster advertising this place was all that Sherlock showed before John was taken here. For one, he was more on the events with Sherlock that involved an awful lot of running, excitement; he did certainly not want to see Opera!

"Err… Sherlock?" John hesitantly asked, leaning slightly towards the darker haired man in the seat beside him. "Why exactly… are we here?"

"For Irene Alder, obviously," Sherlock stated, almost rolling his eyes at the man as if he didn't have a clue. Which he pretty much… didn't.

"The opera singer?" John asked, furrowing his eyebrows whilst highly confused. "Whatever for…?"

"She's just no ordinary opera singer," Sherlock stated, with a wry smile on his lips whilst he didn't move his eyes away from the stage. "Irene Adler. Born and raised in New Jersey, then taken to the UK at quite an early age to be soon recruited by a special agency. She's wanted in seven different countries around the world, including this one, for all sorts of theft and other such crimes… We're not here to watch some silly performance, but to catch her before she runs away, _yet again_."

John couldn't help but arch an eyebrow, as Sherlock muttered something about Lestrade being incompetent and shouldn't let women get the best of him…

"You've been doing your research, I see," John muttered, looking away. "But if I didn't know any better… I would have thought you had a slight _crush_ on her."

What John had just said, had been one of those moments where if Sherlock had been eating something, he would have choked on it.

"How exactly did you get that idea into your brain!"

John didn't exactly know how to reply to that, as he didn't really know if he really had a crush on the woman in question, he just had some bizarre feeling in his stomach that he did. Sherlock's eyes had been fixed on Irene Adler during the entire show. Permanently fixed on, and they hadn't even moved when John had went to talk to him. He had to admit though, she really was a unique specimen, with a plain, long white dress on her, but it hugging to her in all the right places and suiting her quite brilliantly. He assumed she was the type of person who suited any type of clothing really. Her crimson hair tumbled down in vibrant waves, and twirled around with her as she moved rhythmically around the stage to the music. Eyes a glowing green, which shone like emerald stones in the light. Possessing the beauty that wasn't all that natural nor defined, but rather unique with her slightly slanted eyes and retroussé nose. John didn't see how a man couldn't resist those looks, especially someone like Sherlock…

Or _Lestrade_ for that matter…

It didn't take long before the performance was over, John trying to follow Sherlock through the bustle of crowds, but had seemed to be carried away with them, whilst the Detective have headed the opposite way. Towards backstage, or to be more precise, to where Irene Adler's dressing room was…

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**Reviews are muchly apreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here is the next Chapter! Thank you to your reviews, and again, a special thanks to umbuby for Beta-ing this for me! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock, if I did... Well, things would go down a whole lot differently ;D**

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Wind pushed her hair away from her face, as soon as she set out to stand on the balcony. A big gush of air spilling out into the room, as soon as she opened the large wooden doors, breathing in the fresh air and stepping, barefoot, onto the stone surface, her toes scrunching up as the cold invaded her warm feet, but Irene tried to ignore it, whilst she walked right to the edge of the balcony and gazed out into the night.

How long had she been away from London, she didn't really know. She had escaped from this place after her last encounter. The police had certified where she had been staying. Thankfully her seductive skills were quite… up to scratch. So she hadn't had to worry about that, she did perfectly fine when she exited this country and left it behind for quite a while. When glancing upon this city now, whilst leaning upon the rail of the balcony and watching cars flicker by, the whole place illuminated by light and the sky filled with glorious, twinkling stars, she was happy to be back.

Sighing into the darkened sky, she soon frowned as she heard a noise nearby. Her eyebrows furrowing at the abrupt sound for behind her, on the roof, of a stone skipping down it. It landed upon the balcony. Looking around… Irene had spotted no one there. If she had been looking at everything closely maybe she would have noticed something dodging out of view when she had looked that way.

Assuming it was merely a bird, Irene yet again turned around to watch the city. This time taking in all the sounds. She placed her head in her hands and dreamily watched everything go by. Not noticing more creaks from above, from the roof, but certainly snapping around once something a lot bigger landed on the balcony behind her and_ indeed_, it was not a bird. Something way more darker and somewhat scarier than a bird, if you yourself, were a criminal, and criminals like Irene Adler, had either heard a mere whisper of his name or stood right in front of him, face to face and once you did that, you were most definitely destined to end up in prison, for good this time. As most of the courts didn't have enough evidence to prosecute a person, but that man. Oh, that man could most certainly prove anything.

"Sherlock Holmes" Irene whispered, not daring to move from her very spot, rooted down to the balcony. Having the possibility of perhaps jumping from the balcony, but too interested to see how this little meeting would spin out, and soon grasping desperately onto her senses, whilst she stood up straight and tried to look as if she wasn't indeed quite nervous in front of the consulting Detective. Ending up looking slightly… mischievous instead. "And I thought you wouldn't have been that at all interested in me."

To her half-hearted comment, Sherlock only raised an eyebrow and stepped out of the shadows, so the thief could see him more clearly. Eyes like silver stones gleaming in the subtle light, with hardly any expression over his face and his curly, black mop of hair sweeping messily over his forehead. Hands stuck deep in his coat pockets, as it swayed from the slight wind.

"Oh, Irene," He just replied, his voice astonishingly deep, and as silky smooth as chocolate. Those few words washing over her like butter. "You are certainly… interesting, it's too bad I have to arrest people like you. Maybe if you had taken up another profession we could have gotten on quite well."

"Could?" Irene asked. "What says we can't?"

"Well, I'm arresting you of course."

"Are you now?" Irene asked, taking a step back away from him as he seemed to dig around in his pocket for something. Only to find herself pressed up against the rail of the balcony. Sherlock just wryly smirked as he placed the handcuffs on one of her wrists. He snapped the other to his own. Raising both of their hands.

"Obviously."

Irene just smiled in reply; she had an idea to get herself out of this mess.

"You're a scientist, aren't you Mr Holmes?"

The Detective's smile was soon wiped off, as his face contorted with slight confusion instead.

"Yes, but…?"

"Well," Irene smiled, running her other moveable arm up to the crook of his elbow and making him walk back as she tried to near closer, soon enough ending up back in her dressing room again. "Aren't you at all interested in nocturnal activities?"

"…What?"

"Assuming the obvious," Irene finally said, slamming him against her dressing-room table and getting all the more close to Irene Adler by the minute, as well as Sherlock Holmes getting all the more confused and maybe just a bit slightly flustered. "You've probably never kissed anyone… am I right?"

"_What_?" Sherlock repeated, trying to stay vaguely on top of things, but Irene could see in his eyes that he was failing. Her hand snaked up his arm, shoulder and skimmed his neck until it finally rested under his chin, bringing his face level with hers. She smiled wryly at the Detective.

"For a man with so unique looks, sharp intelligence and a strange, yet somewhat alluring personality, I can't help but have thought you would have been," Irene said, Sherlock finding himself stuck to the spot, as he stared into her mesmerizing emerald eyes and finding himself not helping but gaze into them, like he did at the performance. He had never found himself so infatuated with a woman, but there was something about the thief that was different from rest. A bit like what Irene had pointed out about him before. He had never been seduced either, as he had found he had bluntly insulted the women that were briefly attracted to him, only to turn their noses up at him and strut off, but her…

"…Better late than never I suppose."

In one swift movement, Irene had compressed her lips against his own. Suddenly being entangled with her very presence, her sweet lips smothering with him in something he had not felt in quite a long time. Her hand now drifting to into his hair, lithe fingers clutching onto it whilst his didn't really know what do to with itself. He didn't really know what to do with himself in fact, his distrust towards her floating away like a cloud, as he too closed his eyes. Hardly noticing Irene's hand slid elsewhere. To where the handcuff's bound them together, but unlike the trick Irene had played on the Detective Inspector, she had taken it a little too far once she clicked the handcuff around another object. Sherlock totally entranced, until he pulled away at the snapping sound of the handcuffs. Irene stepping away in an instant, whilst Sherlock just stared disbelievingly.

"It seemed like you enjoyed it," Irene smiled, with a wink and a sleek wave of the hand, before she turned on her heel and skipped off towards the balcony. Sherlock still just blinking and his mind in total vegetable mode, a slight smudge of lipstick on his lips, from where Irene had been. He was now cuffed onto the dressing table. A little too dazed to do anything, as any normal person would be like after there's, though he was no suddenly love-struck teenager, nor any ordinary person, but still. He couldn't draw himself to get his hand into his pocket and fish the key out… if it was still there of course. "Any who, take delight in the rest of your night!"

All that Sherlock last saw of Irene Adler that week was a flash of a grin, before she disappeared into the darkness and swung herself over the balcony and into the night. Leaving Sherlock to turn his simply awestruck mood into a frustrated one, at more himself, than Irene Adler, and as anyone can imagine. Sherlock pretty much vowed he would take control the next time he met with her and he would most _certainly_ catch her this time…

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**Reviews are muchly appreciated!**


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